


No, It's Rogue

by AkaneNyx



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), Rating May Change, Road Trips, past Rogue/Bobby Drake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaneNyx/pseuds/AkaneNyx
Summary: "Logan... It's me." The familiar thick-southern accent was strained; her voice hoarse as though she'd screamed, or cried, herself out."Marie?""No." On the other end of the line she drew a shaky breath. "It's Rogue."





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Another old mess of mine cross-posted from fanfiction.net.
> 
> This one, though I suppose where the last chapter that I have posted over there ends could be seen as a natural breaking point, is a work in progress - which hasn't seen much progress in a while.

The sound of his phone jolted him awake and like almost every time that he awoke it took him a moment to figure out exactly where he was. At least tonight, he conceded, he wasn't wondering when it was. Something had happened on Alcatraz. The dreams, the nightmares, were getting more vivid. Sometimes when he woke if felt like he was still then.

He looked about the room he was in. There was a light glow coming from the his left, behind the wall. Tacky wallpaper; slightly itchy, stiff sheets, lumpy pillow. It didn't take long for it to come back to him. A hotel. Best Western. Just north of Tulsa, Oklahoma. The clock read just before three.

Eighteen days ago he'd gotten the urge to go for the first time since they'd lost the professor. He'd been at the mansion for almost six months: history classes, art classes, combat training, the occasional trip into town for the few supplies that they didn't have delivered. At the time he thought that he was hiding it pretty well. But 3 days latter Storm had cornered him between classes and given him a stack of files of potential students, an itinerary, and keys to one of their fancier cars. "Everything you need is there," she'd told him. You're leaving tomorrow. It should take you between three weeks plus the ride back. Go get a haircut and some decent clothes. You're going to be representing all of us." It wasn't the same as getting on the bike and going blindly, but it took the edge off.

The room dropped silent. He cursed and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. He didn't even bother to check the caller ID before punching the button to return the call. No one outside the mansion needed to contact him, it had to have been Storm with another kid to add to his list.

The phone picked up at the end of the first ring, "Who do you have for me now, Storm?" he asked.

"Logan... It's me." The familiar thick-southern accent was strained; her voice hoarse as though she'd screamed, or cried, herself out.

"Marie?"

"No." On the other end of the line she drew a shaky breath. "It's Rogue." She didn't sound nearly as confident as she had the last time she'd corrected him as to her name.

He swore, some of the words coming out in other languages, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She didn't sound 'fine'. Her voice cracked.

"Marie?" he asked again, trying to keep her talking. He was already out of bed and halfway into his jeans.

"I... I didn't even know... There wasn't any warnin'... Just came back... They're sayin' they'll come 'round but... but... I just..."

"Calm down Marie. Just let me call Storm."

"Why?"

"To tell her I'm coming back early." He tossed his suitcase up on the bed and started to check that he had everything.

"You don't need to do that. I just... I needed a friend."

His heart sank. "I'll be there in about eighteen or nineteen hours. It'd be sooner but she made me bring a car."

He said the last word with such distaste that she almost smiled. "You gotta job to do. I'm not havin' you come rushin' back here just 'cause I put my ex-boyfriend and my roommate in the hospital wing."

Several words in that sentence caused him a degree of panic but he just said, "Alright."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'll keep doing what I'm supposed to out here. Can you hold on a minute?"

"Sure." He wasn't sure if she sounded more disappointed or relieved.

He reached for the in room phone and dialed storms number before poking the speaker button on his cell and holding it where she could hear his half of the conversation. "Storm... Yeah I know it's early... Been looking at this one file. It's going to take a woman's touch to convince... I know you can't. Send Rogue... But nothing... I already know... We knew it happened to Magneto, there was always a chance... Give her a couple more files and put her on a plane... No, the first one out today... Damnit Storm, I'm not helping her run and she's not going to think you're chasing her off... That's exactly it. We'll be back once it's all sorted out... Yeah, if anyone can it's me... Call me back and let me know when she's landing." He dropped the phone back in it's cradle.

"Logan, what have you done?"

"Don't argue. Just pack," he said in a surprisingly reassuring voice.

"You're serious. I can't leave. Not now."

"Kid, this is more important right now. Storm's said they'd be fine."

"I can't fly commercial. Not like this. What if I..."

"You'll be fine. I'll see you in a few hours."

"But..."

"Just pack. You'll need warm clothes."

"Warm clothes? But you're in Oklahoma."

"Not for long. And grab my old leather coat. She made me leave it at home.

"What did you mean 'when we get it all sorted out'?"

"Kid, quit asking so many questions and pack."

"Quit calling me 'Kid'."

Logan smirked, "Alright Marie. Tell storm I'm tapping the contingency fun and shipping the car back as soon as we're done with the recruits."

"Contingency fund?"

"No more questions," he insisted as he tossed his suitcase back on the floor. "I'm going to try to get a couple hours of sleep and check another kid off my list before you get into town. I'll pick you up at the airport."

He no more than hung up his cell than the room phone rang. "She's flying United. Plane lands at two. You'd better know what you're doing." The line went dead before he could even open his mouth.


	2. The Departure

Ororo paced the office, wondering if going along with Logan's plan was really the right decision. Not that anyone really decided anything when it came to Logan's plans, she mused. One either followed along or got the hell out of his way. He had more determination than any man she'd ever met and that went doubly when the situation involved Rogue. She didn't dwell on what that might mean, as some had. She simply chose to acknowledge that they were both old souls, Logan with his enhanced lifespan and Rogue via the memories of others that she had absorbed. Once she recognized that, she knew that it was no wonder that they shared a sort of companionship that most didn't understand.

She could admit that she hadn't fully understood it until she'd taken over as headmistress. Those first few days that she spent reviewing the professor's files had been quite enlightening. Logan had always been a bit of a mystery, but she was alarmed to find that despite the years that he'd spent with them he remained almost a complete mystery to himself. And Rogue, who she'd initially found fault with over her decision to take the cure, was now displayed in a much more sympathetic light after learning that it was more than just life force and power that she drew from people. It had alarmed her to find how Rogue's powers had given the girl more insight to Logan's past than the man himself had. And it was no small wonder that the man who had, by the accounts of the few pages she had skimmed before her conscious had gotten the better of her curiosity, lost so many would be drawn to a girl who's mutation coupled with his own would allow him to always save her so long as he got there in time. At first she had been surprised that the cure had not caused a rift between the pair, but it was obvious that the bond that had been forged was as strong as the metal in Logan's bones.

She sighed, knowing that going against Logan in this matter would be inadvisable at best. It was too late anyway, she'd already called for the flight. She wasn't sure how he intended to help Rogue find the key to controlling her newly-returned power. He had no knowledge of the physiology behind the mutation, no psychic or telepathic powers to aid her mind in finding the key, no sense of pre-cognition that he could use to work backwards from a future-time when she was in control. What he had, she knew, was a strong will, the ability to heal from the damage that Rogue could inflict, and the advantage of being the last person on Earth who Rogue would want to hurt. It was as crazy as any of the plans she'd heard from him, and by that merit alone it began to sound feasible.

Ororo returned to the desk where, before Logan's phone call, she had just finished the write up on the incident surrounding the return of Rogue's mutation. Despite the finality of Hank's findings from the simple tests he had run, the report would remain incomplete until Bobby and Kitty awoke, but for now it would have to do. She slipped the reports into Rogue's file and thumbed through the papers that had accumulated over the last three years in hopes of finding some sort of sign that she was doing the right thing in this matter. Instead, she found the Professor's write up from the terrifying, middle-of-the-night incident in which Logan, woken from tumultuous dreams, had impaled Rogue. It did not take much to recall the absolute horror of the scene, or the pleading, panicked way that Rogue had said, 'It was an accident.' For a moment the memory gave her pause. She would be sending Rogue to stay, presumably in close quarters, with Logan for an indeterminate amount of time. Having a room in the same hall as him, it was no secret that he still suffered from nightmares.

She closed Rogues file and moved to pull Logan's. Snippets from pages in which the Professor, unbeknownst to Logan, had detailed eaves dropping on his nightmares in hopes of being able to offer him a starting point that would open up his past, lined up with accounts of memories scrawled in Rogue's careful script. Ororo all but gasped as she realized what the Professor had obviously known all along: the dreams were memories. Memories which Rogue already fully possessed. Mindlessly she scrawled a quick note on a post-it, affixed it to the front of Logan's file and slid both his and Rogue's into a plain manilla envelope, which she sealed tightly before she could change her mind.

Envelope and and note with flight information in hand, Ororo made her way to Rogue's room. She could hear movement from within that her soft knock brought to a halt.

Rogue, still red-eyed from crying, answered the door. Behind her Ororo could see clothes scattered around the room and the duffel that she had arrived with lying on the bed.

The words were out before she could stop them, "You're not thinking of running away, are you?"

Rogue smiled, a reaction that she hadn't expected. "He told me to pack."

She shook her head. "Of course he did." It shouldn't have surprised her really, they kept nothing from one another.

"I'm going to need his coat. He wants it, says you wouldn't let him have it. I promise it won't let him wear it to any meetings."

She could only nod.

"Miss Munroe?" she asked, her voice breaking just a bit.

"Yes?"

"Can I... do you have... Do you have any gloves I can borrow? Or maybe a shirt with really long sleeves?"

The defeat in Rogue's voice was heartbreaking. "You got rid of all of it, didn't you?"

She nodded glumly.

"I would have too. You just finish getting around. Pack what you have, we'll go get what you don't. I'll be back as soon as I wake Peter and Jubilee to keep an eye on things and find Logan's coat."

"Miss Munroe?"

"Please Rogue, we're past that, you're allowed to call me Storm. And hurry up," she insisted, laying the envelope and the flight information down, "That's what he asked for. The rest is your flight information. Your plane leaves at ten. We're not going to have very long."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Storm," a voice called as she reentered the girl's wing after waking Peter and locating Logan's coat.

She turned and was met with Jubilee. "Good, you're already awake. You and Peter are going to have to keep an eye on things around here for a couple hours."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I just don't want to disturb Hank right now and Warren didn't get much sleep either with the goings on last night. I have to take Rogue to the airport."

"Airport? You're sending her away because of what happened?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Logan called from the road," she said, patting the leather jacket that hung across her arm. "He needs a little help."

"Well that's convenient."

"Jubilee," she said warningly.

"Oh come on, it's Logan. He's more protective of Rogue than most guys are of their..."

"Jubilee!"

"Sorry. So anyway. I was out last night and someone called and let me know what had happened and I thought... Well, come here a minute."

She didn't know what to expect but she followed Jubilee back to her room none the less. "I was still at the mall and there wasn't much of a selection, but..." she said, handing over a small shopping bag.

Ororo looked down in the bag and then back up at Jubilee, pleasantly surprised and moved nearly to tears. Several pair of gloves, separated by tissue, lay inside the paper bag. She reached in and traced her fingers over the fabric.

"I know she doesn't have any anymore. She told me a couple weeks ago that she wasn't even going to wear gloves this winter, no matter how cold it got."

"You should take these to her."

"I thought maybe you would."

"It'll mean more coming from you."

"You don't think she'll be mad?"

"No sweetie. I think it'll make her feel good to know that someone still cares after..."

"Of course we still care! It's not like she meant to! I mean, this is Rogue. She'd never do anything like that on purpose."

"Well go on then," she insisted. "I'll give you a couple minutes, but we've got a stop to make and her flight leaves at ten."

The girl nodded and set off out of her room and down the hall toward Rogue's.

Ororo stood in Jubilee's room for a moment. The reaffirmation that they were doing good here hit her like a ton of bricks. They were still short handed, and would be even more so with Logan's extended absence, but it was moments like this that made it worth it. Warren was starting to teach, Hank had agreed to stay on, there were a couple past students she knew she could call if need-be. All that mattered to her was that they keep doing what they were. She knew that they weren't just teaching children, they were raising them as well, it was a fact that she never took for granted.

She glanced at her watch. It was time to go. Quietly making her way back down the hall to Rogue's room, she tried to at least pick up on the tone of the conversation before she entered. She couldn't hear anything but it made her pause when she peeked in through the slightly ajar door and found the two girl quietly sitting side by side on the bed. Rogue was fingering a new pair of black opera-length gloves. She finally heaved a sigh, pushed up her sleeves and pulled the gloves on.

Jubilee looked on and when Rogue finally pulled her sleeves back down and fisted her hands before setting them on her knees, she reached over and patted her friends shoulder. "There's going to be a day when you don't have to wear those, Rogue. Trust me."

"You really think that?"

"Yes, I do. No gloves. No cure. You've got it in you, you know."

"I hope so," Rogue whispered.

Ororo took that as her cue to enter. She knocked softly against the door frame. "Rogue, it's time. We've got get going."

"I know. Thanks, Jubilee."

"Hey, what are friends for. You just take care of the tough guy. He's gotta be in a fix if he's called you in over it."

Rogue just gave a half smile before tucking the small shopping bag in in the half-packed duffel and hoisting it over her shoulder.

There were no goodbyes, Ororo noted, nothing that final. That attitude was common at the mansion. Even years after students graduated and moved on, many often came back for days or even months at a time to visit or help out. For so many this place wasn't just a boarding school, it was home. Even those who weren't runaways often said that the mansion and grounds were more home to them than anywhere they'd lived before or since.

They made their way through the mansion and to the garage. She laid Logan's coat across the duffel that Rogue had tossed into the back seat, pulled the car out and started in the direction of the airport.

"I talked to Hank early this morning," Storm began carefully. She could almost feel Rogue turn to look at her but when the girl said nothing, she continued, "He says you're not to worry about Bobby and Kitty. Their vitals are good and though he has no idea how long they'll remain unconscious, he has no doubts that they'll be fine. He also says that your tests came back normal. Everything is reading the same as it did after the Alkali Lake incident. He says your healing potential is still elevated and he thinks that may be the reason that the cure wore off so quickly. All reports we have say that it's starting to wear off for most recipients between three and nine months after dosage. Most are seeing a gradual return, but he thinks that the little bit of Logan that stuck with you after Liberty Island sped the process."

Again, Rogue remained silent.

"Logan's worried about you. I'm supposing you heard him on the phone last night. He sounded almost like he did when way back when you tried to take the train out of town. I put Hank's latest notes in your file and tucked it with the other things I'm sending him. I don't know exactly what he's got planned, but he wants to help you."

"I know. I just hate that he thinks he's gotta be the guinea pig for this."

"That's just how. Now, I know it's hardly high-fashion, but..." she said, pulling into a Target.

"Jubilee got me gloves," the girl whispered brokenly.

"I know."

"She told me she wasn't afraid of me without them, but that she knew they'd make me more comfortable 'til I got it figured out."

Ororo smiled, the usually ditzy girl had found the perfect sentiment. "She's a good friend."

Rogue's voice was colored with a sort of disbelief, "Kitty's her best friend, and she's not even mad at me."

"None of us are mad at you," she reassured her as she shifted the car into park and started to get out. "What are you going to need in here?"

"I've only got one other long sleeved shirt and one sweater in my bag. And I got rid of all my long pajamas."

"Why did you pack your sweater? Logan's in Oklahoma and headed south-west."

"I know. But he said to pack warm stuff. Sounded like he wasn't plannin' on staying south for long."

Ororo knew she didn't want to ask the next question but it was unavoidable, "Did he say anything else I should know about?"

Rogue gave her an apologetic look that she knew spelled trouble. "He said somethin' 'bout shippin' the car back and tappin' the contingency fund."

"What?"

"It's Logan," Rogue said in a much calmer tone that Ororo found herself capable of. "You can't put him in a car like that. You sent him out 'cause we all knew he was getting restless, right?"

"Yes."

"You can't tether him with a sunroof, air conditionin', and On-star when he gets like that. He says the world 'car' like most people say the words 'root canal' or 'tax audit'."

Ororo laughed in spite of herself as they walked into the store, grabbing a cart on the way in. "So that's why you're wearing your boots?"

"Yeah. He's loved motorcycles since he got on his first Harley."

"When was that?" she asked in the interest in continuing the conversation.

"How much of his file have you read, Storm?" There was a sharp change in Rogues voice that she couldn't account for and the question itself took her by surprise.

"Some," she admitted, "but only as much as I had to. Once I figured out that he doesn't know much of anything about his past it didn't feel right. If he doesn't know, neither should I. That's got to be a terrible burden for you to carry around."

"Do you know how old he is?" she asked, not showing any indication that she thought of Logan's memories as a burden.

"Yes."

She could almost see the girl thinking, dredging up the memory, "He rode his first Harley durin' World War One. It was the freest he'd felt in years. I don't think that he remembers that, but I think he still feels it when he rides, even if he's just goin' into town for a couple things or takin' the old dirt road around the grounds."

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"Because I feel it too now."

Ororo looked at the girl, unable to find any words at all. She briefly wondered just how much of Logan remained imprinted beneath Rogue's usually poised exterior.

She didn't know if Rogue sensed her discomfort or if she just wasn't affected by it when she held up the a sweater and asked, "Do you think this color?"

"Green's always good for you," she replied, having to force the smile just a bit. "I saw you didn't bring your coat, do you need one?"

"No, I'll just wear Logan's out. I'm sure he'll make me find something sturdy once he gets a bike."

"You think he's going to head north?"

"He is Canadian," Rouge agreed.

"Then you might want to think about getting things you can layer."

Rogue nodded and tossed a flannel shirt into the cart. "Will you slip over and see if you can find a couple pair of knee socks and a pair of flannel pajama pants for me?"

Ororo got the feeling that she was being dismissed, but she knew that their schedule didn't give her any time to argue. Twenty minutes of frantic cart-filling later, she found herself leaned against the wall outside of a fitting room stall waiting for Rogue to try on what she had picked out. She felt she should be saying something, or at least approving or disapproving outfits, but that implied a luxury of time that they did not have. Instead she was standing by waiting to make sure that Rogue didn't need anything in a different size.

"I think I'm done here," Rouge called.

"That's got to be some sort of record."

"For the shortest shopping trip ever?"

"Yes."

"I'm not done quite yet. I'm going to get a couple more shirts in different colors," she said as she slid the fitting room door open.

"I'll take what you don't want," she offered, holding out her hands to receive the few pieces that were already carefully folded. It didn't escape her notice that Rogue was careful to avoid touching her, even though she was wearing gloves.

It didn't take her long to return the unwanted items to their racks and catch up with Rogue, "Do you have something to do on the plane?"

"I've got my little mp3 player and I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"How about a paperback or a couple magazines?"

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

* * *

It wasn't what Ororo would usually deem a fruitful shopping trip, but it had served it's purpose. As they sat in the back seat of the car, packing the new purchases into her duffel, Rogue spoke again. "Not everything he's did in his past was bad, you know? He saved lives. Countless lives."

She didn't have to ask who Rogue was talking about. "I don't doubt that," she replied in a tone that indicated that she didn't really know what had brought this on or where the conversation was headed.

"I think he may have even saved yours."

"What?" She was floored, and briefly wondered if the knack Rogue seemed to have for dropping bombs like that one was something that had transferred from Logan or if it was just from spending so much time with him.

"I know your worried about this for some reason and I don't know how else to put you at ease," Rogue explained. "God knows It feels like I'm I'm betrayin' him somehow, even if I'm not about to tell you the whole story. But I think maybe if you know a little piece of it, the piece of it I didn't write down, you'll understand better. You see, I have this memory of his and there's a detail that I'm pretty sure doesn't show up in his nightmares..."

"You don't have to..."

Rogue shook her head. "You can't ever mention this, or let on that I told you, but you need to understand."

"Understand what?"

"That he can be trusted. That you've got nothin' to worry about, sendin' me out to meet him, lettin' him help me."

"I'm not..."

She smiled. "Just hear me out. Okay?"

Ororo could only nod.

"This memory. He was with a group that came to a village in Africa lookin' for somethin'. No one but the guy in charge knew exactly what or why. The people of the village wouldn't give up what the leader of the group wanted. And when he signaled for the other men to start killin' innocents until someone complied and took him to what he wanted, Logan walked. They'd arrived to perfectly clear skies, middle of the dry season, but there was thunder and lightenin' when he left. And there was a little girl with shock-white hair who slipped into the brush while his leavin' had everyone distracted. He thought about the little kid off and on the whole way home. He wondered if she made it out alive, kicked himself for not takin' her with him, thought about turnin' back for her a couple dozen times but finally decided it was more of a risk for her to be with someone like him than to be on their own."

She was stunned to silence, a flash of a long-suppressed childhood memory coming to the surface.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she managed.

"You see now, he's a protector. A whole village of innocents and he did what he could to talk them down, tried to get them to turn on their own leader. I might not exactly be an innocent, Storm, but even if I was just meeting him, I'd have nothing to fear from Logan."

"It's not that at all."

"Then you're thinking he'll do something accidentally? Another nightmare?"

Ororo knew her silence spoke volumes.

"Maybe if I were you, I'd worry 'bout that too."

"But you don't?"

"Of course not. And it worries me less today than it should have yesterday. He'll always save me, Storm, even if the cost to him is higher than it was on Liberty Island. It's just who he is."

"I should have seen it that way earlier," she admitted, feeling a bit foolish.

"Maybe, but I understand why you wouldn't."

She hated to end the conversation but she knew time was getting short. "I've got to get you over to the airport. Are you ready?"

"I suppose," she said as she zipped her duffel.

Once they were back on the road, Ororo tried to give her some peace of mind, "The flight's half empty, I managed to get you a window seat. You don't need to worry about anything."

"Thanks."

"I'll think we'll have enough time if you'd like to grab breakfast before you go through security."

"That sounds nice."

* * *

After breakfast and surprisingly light conversation at the Au Bon Pain in the airport, Ororo said farewell to Rogue who looked almost as apprehensive as she did hopeful.

When she returned to her car, she called Logan. "She made the airport in plenty of time to get through security... Yeah, we had to get her a few things on the way there... No. Actually, Jubilee picked her up a few pair last night, someone let her know what was going on while she was out... Yeah, she's a better kid than we give her credit for... I know I don't have to say it, but you take care of her, Logan... Yeah... Thanks... I know... As long as you need... Just keep me posted"

She spent the drive home thinking over what Rogue had said. The girl obviously trusted Logan and his judgment completely. It was only fair that she follow suit.


	3. The Hotel

The airport made him uncomfortable. He couldn't fly commercial, not that he had any desire to. Parking had been a pain. The very sign on the door that said 'No Weapons' made him feel unwelcome. Inside he found it to be one of those deceptively crowded places that was designed to make you feel like there was more space than there really was. It had appeared too clean for the volume of people, but the overpowering combination of none-too-pleasant scents proved otherwise.

Yet here he was, almost an hour early, trying to find Marie's flight on the arrival board. United flight from New York expected in fifty-five minutes, at Gate 56, baggage on Carousel B. Simple enough. For the maze that he had expected the airport to be, he found the baggage claim rather easily. He took his post by the carousel and waited.

The wall he'd leaned against refused to tether him, but it didn't take him long to realize that his pacing was making the other people nervous, so he forced himself into one of the stiff plastic chairs. It creaked under his weight as he lowered himself into it. For the first time since his knee-jerk reaction in the early morning hours he allowed himself to wonder if what he really knew what he was doing. Was Storm right? Was he really just helping her run? Should he have left her to face whatever happened at the mansion? Would he really be able to help her learn to control it? And do so without it killing him?

A light flashed and he looked up, the carousel spun slowly, bags coming down the chute, but it was too early to be her flight. He found himself almost wishing that he'd thought to bring a book or the last couple case files to read through, or at least hide behind. People kept looking at him expectantly, as thought he was going to great a passenger, or detonate a bomb. In a space where everyone seemed to be ignoring everyone else, it only added to his discomfort. His approximation of a gentle smile did nothing but make the people nearest to him flinch so he force himself to return to his prior line of thought. He hadn't gotten enough details about the incident to know anything really. How would the students feel about her leaving? Would they think she was running? Would she go through another bout of being looked upon as a coward? And what exactly did she mean 'ex-boyfriend'? Surely the kid wouldn't up and leave her over something that was so obviously not her fault.

She was going to be a wreck when she got here, he realized belatedly. Suddenly he wondered if it was right to ask her to crowd into a plane where all those other people would see that she was upset. Not to mention that she was going to be forced to be in close quarters with people; people she could no longer touch. He hoped Storm had managed to get her a window seat. That would be easier on her, right? Or would it just make her feel trapped? Seating was better in first class right? More spacious? Maybe Storm had manage that for her instead. Was that possible on short notice?

His eyes drifted to a small gift shop. Should he have gotten her something to cheer her up? He shook off that ridiculous thought as soon as it entered his mind. There was no such thing as an appropriate gift and since he wasn't the sort anyway, it would have just been awkward.

He glanced up at the clock. Twenty minutes.

That left him with twenty minutes to come up with a game plan beyond the craziness that had sprung to mind last night when he'd heard the terror and self-loathing in her voice. Protective instincts he rarely recognized outside of a life-and-death situation had gone into overdrive and he couldn't think of anything but getting her out of there and fixing the problem. Twelve hundred and fifty miles away from the non-conflict and his fight or flight instinct had taken over. Helping her through this was something he was set on, but without knowledge or means enough to fly into headlong. It was times like this that he wished that parts of his mutation were more practical in the every-day sense than his claws.

Another group of passengers made their way toward him and surrounded carousel as it started up again. He glanced at the clock and pulled himself to his feet. This would be her flight. He looked around in search of her only to find nothing. His nostrils flared, a familiar scent. And from behind him a voice called. "I'm like you. I travel light."

She stood there behind him in boots, jeans and his worn leather jacket, her black-gloved fingers poking out of the too-long sleeves. Her beat up duffel was swung over one shoulder, a small black leather purse on the other, and she wore almost the same expression he'd seen in the rear-view mirror or his truck when he'd tried to leave her in the middle of the road when they'd first met. That look tore at him just the same now.

"C'mere." he insisted, lifting his arm to so she could slip into his side for a hug.

She hesitated. The uncertainty that she'd carried herself with before the 'cure' had already flared back to life.

He shook his head and gave her a hug anyway, which she stiffly allowed but did not return, before snatching her duffel from her and taking her hand to lead her toward the car. Again she allowed the contact but didn't reciprocate. The feel of the glove didn't surprise him. It was obviously new. He'd watched from far out of sight as she'd privately burnt her collection after returning to the mansion. He hated that she had to wear them again. It almost pained him that she'd be reverting to long sleeves and high collars, a look he knew she hated. She'd explained to him once, as she sat in the first pair of shorts and tank top that he'd ever seen her wear, that the more she'd had to wear, especially when it was warmer, the more exposed she felt.

"We'll go back to the hotel and then out to get something to eat," he said as he unlocked the doors and set her duffel in the back seat. "Everything else we'll figure out from there."

She only nodded mutely.


	4. The Hotel

The car ride back to the hotel was eerily silent and he couldn't help but see the sharp contrast between this and their first ride together. A few years ago he would've been grateful for the silence, now he just wished she would speak. Since the remark about traveling light, she hadn't uttered a word.

Storm had pre-booked all of his room and so far they'd all been the same: king bed, small couch, flimsy table and chairs, television, bathroom. He belatedly realized that he should've tried to get another room before picking her up but it was too late for that now. He set her duffel on the table and took a seat on the couch. She pulled a few things out of the duffel and set them to the side before producing a manilla folder.

Finally, she broke the silence, "This is what Storm sent you," she said before gingerly handing it over.

He nodded and took it. She turned away as soon as it was in his hands and he took the opportunity to study her for a moment as she stuffed her belongings back in the bag. "So where's your coat?" he asked as she shrugged his coat off, revealing a long sleeved black t-shirt, and draped the worn leather across the back of one of the chairs.

She turned and gave him a ghost of a smile, "I know you, Logan. If you're gonna ship the car back, which has Storm in furious by the way, there's a bike. Or at least there's going to be. And either way, I'm not gonna stand for getting my coat caught in the hind wheel."

Logan laughed and the tension that had been choking the room dissipated. "You've got me there. You brought your ID and passport, right?"

"Of course. I don't go anywhere without them, must have picked that up from you. Now, I'm gonna go take a shower. I don't need your senses to know that I smell like the inside of an airplane."

He shook his head. The combination of stale air, over-processed leather, and commercial-grade cleaners mixed in with the hint of at least two-dozen different brands of perfume and cologne had been getting to him a little bit, but he would never have told her.

As soon as she grabbed her duffel and retired to the bathroom, he opened the envelope. It surprised him to find only two files and a note from Storm that simply read. 'If you're going to help her, you might as well let her help you too. Be careful. - Ororo' With an introduction like that, he shouldn't have been surprised to find that the files were Rogues and his own.

He stared at the tags on the files, Professor Xaviar's careful handwriting labeled the folders with their chosen name first and their birth names followed. " 'Rogue' – Marie D'Acanto" and " 'Wolverine' – James Howlett AKA: Weapon X, Peter Richards, Jim Logan, John Logan, 'Logan'" The very label taunted him. He couldn't remember being called James. He couldn't remember his childhood at all.: even his dreams didn't provide flashes of that part of his life. The name on his ID's not withstanding, he had been 'Wolverine' and 'Logan' for as long as he could remember. Eighteen years with nothing prior it. No memory behind it. No past. No more names than the ones that had been on his dog tags when he'd come to. He stared at the outside of the files, not knowing what he was supposed to do.

The bathroom door swung open. Jeans, gray long-sleeved shirt, black gloves: her outfit wasn't quite a full reversion to her pre-'cure' look and, given that almost every long-sleeved shirt she'd owned had gone up in flames with her gloves, he assumed that the shirt at least must be new. He laid the files down and patted the couch beside him.

She looked at him as though she was dreading what was to come.

"Not going to ask you to talk about it 'til you're ready," he said, taking a guess at the reason for her hesitation. "We just gotta deal with one other thing. C'mon over and sit down."

She didn't argue, though he could see that she was still hesitant. She carefully lowered herself onto the couch, keeping tight up against the arm of the couch.

"Lose the gloves."

"What? No!"

"Marie, you've got to trust me. Let me help you."

"But..."

"We've got to know if it's always on; if it's as strong as before or stronger. There's only one way to find out."

"But..."

"I don't like putting you through this," he admitted. "I know you don't need another little piece of me in you head, but checking in on it is the only way I know to start."

She fooled with the seams of her gloves. "I don't want to hurt you."

His voice was gentle and compelling. "I'm not worried about that. I'll be fine. Take them off."

She sighed in defeat, pushed up her sleeves and peeled the elbow length gloves off. She folded them and laid them on the arm of the couch before clasping her hands and laying them on her lap.

"You're stalling."

"You would be too."

He turned his hand palm up and laid it on the couch between them. "Relax. I trust you, Rogue," he said, nodding toward his hand. Then, in a display of that trust, Logan then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The choice, the action; it had to be hers alone.

He could smell her fear without trying to as he felt her shift on the couch beside him. Several times he could feel the heat from her hand draw near to his and then retreat. Finally, she took a steadying breath and slowly placed her fingertips in his palm. He could feel her shaking before her power kicked in. The pull wasn't as strong as it had been on Liberty Island and for that he was thankful. She tried to pull away but he grasped her fingertips and held on, counting backwards from thirty to give himself some sort of a baseline. He could feel his breathing becoming a bit more labored, but he ignored it as he carefully considered the draw of energy and the tug on his mind.

"Logan," she warned.

He released her, drawing a deep breath.

"Are you alright?"

He paused for a moment to take stock of himself and let himself heal fractionally before answering. "I'm fine, maybe a little tireder than I was. It's not as strong as before."

"It feels like it is on my end."

This intrigued him. "Do you think that you're magnifying it as you draw it in or do you think it just feels that way because it's new again?"

"I don't know," she admitted as she pulled her gloves back on. "Probably just because it's fresh."

He nodded thoughtfully but didn't comment on it further, opting to change the subject. "I haven't eaten yet and it is going on five. What do you want?"

"A big, rare steak and a beer," she said without hesitation.

He gave a melancholy chuckle. "Works like that, does it?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in.

She shrugged, though not hard enough that he felt like she was hoping to shrug off his arm. "The initial cravings are always a little different. Don't get me started on the others, but with you, before I got on the train that first time I hung out in a bar for a about an hour watching a hockey game. After Liberty Island, I broke into your room and stole your cigars, also got in a lot of trouble when I stole Professor Summers's bike one afternoon."

This time he did laugh, his mind conjuring a picture of his departed sometimes-comrade searching for someone to blame once he found the usual culprit was still unconscious. "So, do we need to find somewhere where you can have that beer with your steak or would you settle for keeping things at least sort of legal and letting me pick up a six pack on the way back from dinner?"

She was taken aback. "You'd really allow that? I'm not allowed to drink for almost a year."

"You're the one who keeps telling me to not call you 'Kid.' Besides, it's my craving isn't it? I'm old enough."

"I always get a touch more of your healing factor too. Might ought to make it a case."

He could hear the mischievousness in her voice and the fact that she was starting to loosen up comforted him. "You might be pushing it a bit there, Marie."


	5. The Roadhouse

He couldn't hold back the chuckle when he saw the look on Marie's face upon reading the sign. “Quit your gaping and let's go in,” he insisted.

“Logan's Roadhouse? Seriously?”

“It's a chain. I've been to a handful of them since I hit the road.”

“It still ain't right,” she said, shaking her head.

“They're nice, for a chain. A little loud and dark. Peanuts and cold beer. Besides,” he said, rolling down the window, “just smell those steaks. I doubled back 'cause of the smell when I passed the first one.”

He watched her carefully. Her nostrils flared and her eyes sparkled. She reached for the seatbelt latch. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

He rolled up the window and cut the ignition. The smell that had traveled against the wind to the far corner of the parking lot was faint enough that he knew most people wouldn't have been able to catch it, seemed she had pulled a little of his enhanced senses into her with that last touch.

The wait for their table wasn't very long. Their waitress took their drink order and disappeared after the two iced teas. He didn't draw attention to the fact that he was abstaining until they stopped off for the promised six-pack and when she looked at him questioningly he didn't admit that he knew she'd be able to smell it and didn't want to make it harder on her.

When the waitress returned, Marie wasted no time ordering. “I'll have an eighteen-ounce New York strip steak, rare, and a loaded baked potato with extra butter.”

The waitress stood looking at Marie with a slack-jawed expression. It wasn't something Logan particularly appreciated, who was this girl to judge. “Sounds good to me,” he said, drawing the waitress's attention away from Marie. “Make it two.” After she'd left, he took a moment to study the girl across from him. She sat rigidly, hands folded in her lap. “It's okay if you want to take them off, you know,” he finally said in a hushed tone that didn't travel further than her ears.

“I always did to eat,” she said, pulling the gloves off and tucking them into her purse. “God, I hate this.”

“I know,” he said softly, hoping that the pain he felt on her behalf wasn't audible to anyone but him. He felt the urge to reach out to comfort her, but he knew that touch, even somewhere that was carefully covered by cloth, would not serve to comfort in this moment. It wasn't hard to recognize that she had always seen the gloves as a sort of safety net.

“Can we just not right now... Anything else is fine. Just not that.”

“I'm not pushing,” he insisted, holding up his hands. 

“I know.”

He scrambled for something to fill what threatened to become an awkward silence. “I take it you know what Storm has me out here doing?”

“Yeah. We talked about it before you left, remember?” 

He thought back on his last day in town: how he'd been ready to leave to go shopping as Storm had directed when Marie had caught him at the door. Some lame excuse on her part about needing a few things had turned into his saving grace as he stood, highly irritated, in the middle of the mall, trying to find something 'decent,' as Storm had put it, that didn't make make him feel awkward. “I guess we did,” he said, smiling on the memory of how she'd given the hairdresser very specific instructions when it came to the haircut Storm had insisted that he get. He had planned on just sitting down in the chair and hoping for the best, but she'd taken a seat on the next chair over, looked the petite woman in the eye and said, 'Just a trim and even it out a bit. Don't you dare clean him up too much.' Her mild threat had made it possible for him to relax enough to relay vague details of his mission.

“...And Kitty got me a copy of your itinerary,” she confessed quietly, pulling him from thoughts of the look of mild fear and outright confusion on the face of the petite, scissor-wielding woman.

“So that's how you knew where I was last night.”

She nodded guiltily. 

“You could've just asked Storm.”

“I didn't ask Kitty, might have said something about wondering how far along your trip was after Bobby and I had that little tiff, but I didn't ask her for anything.”

He knew by the look on her face that she'd let more slip than she'd meant to and for once he held himself in check and didn't ask what wanted to. Instead he offered an overview of his trip, hoping that bringing her up to speed would make her feel more like part of the 'mission' and less like and afterthought. “There was a little boy near Lancaster, Pennsylvania that could telepathically talk to cows and horses. His parents were still up in the air when I left, but I got the feeling that they like having him around the farm just as he is. Hunted down a runaway in Lynchburg, Virginia who can fly. She didn't have wings or anything, just flew by her own will. I told her where to go.”

“She showed up a few days ago,” Marie confirmed.

“There was a teenager in this little town in southern Georgia who has some sort of a control over Snakes. He'll be starting in the fall. I pity whoever gets roomed with him. A little boy in Pahokee, Florida who could control water: his file said it was some sort of telekinesis. He had gills too, along his ribs under his arms. Don't about him yet, his mom seemed very interested but he seemed unsure. I suspect that's 'cause we're not as near water as he is now. Quite a few kids on the lam in the Tampa area. I put a telepath, a speedster, a torch, and a boy with a row of feathers in his mohawk on a northbound train a couple days ago.”

She nodded. “Storm sent me to pick them up. They seemed a like good kids, even if the 'speedster' is a little rambunctious. The kid with feathers has a little tail too, and parrot-like feet.”

“He was wearing awfully big boots.”

“Hank about had a fit. I didn't get to talk to him about it personally, but rumor was that he was keeping his feet bound in ace bandages. His wings are puny, they don't even reach out past his rib cage, but Warren says his started small too.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I stopped by the home of a girl that could turn herself invisible near Mobile, Alabama. Sounds like she'll be starting right away. In Baton Rouge there was this little boy, nice kid, maybe eight years old. He manifested early: whiskers, tail, pointy ears, cat-like eyes. He wasn't furry all over but his hair and the fur on his ears and tail were a lighter shade of blue than Hank's. He seemed rather... acrobatic. I showed him the picture of Hank from the brochure, he was so excited. His mother bailed on him before he manifested. He was living with his legally blind Grandmother who loves him all the same. She told me he was 'special' when she opened the door for me, as though she wanted to brace me for meeting him. Really nice lady. I think Storm's going to help her find a place near the school. And Storm's going just adore the little boy from Conroe, Texas. His file didn't say anything specific about his powers, but when I found him, where he was sleeping in an abandoned warehouse, it was snowing.”

“You've been busy.” Something about the smile she gave made him glad that he had taken Storm's route instead of just taking off. She looked pleased, proud.

“I met with a family today with a girl who can change the composition of almost anything she touches into wood or stone. There's nothing plastic left in their house. They've taken it pretty well but she's beside herself. She doesn't have control, it'll kick in when her emotions get the better of her and they've had to chisel her out of her clothes a couple times. They're going to talk it over one last time and call Storm in the morning.”

She nodded. Logan thought she seemed grateful somehow that he was giving her the briefing. It might have seemed like an impersonal conversation to some, but she appeared to be finding comfort in it. “So what's next?”

“There's a set of fraternal twins in a group home out in Santa Fe. An interesting pair according to their files: one does something with fog, the other can see infrared and ultraviolet. One can cloak and the other one can see right through it. Tactically, they'll make a hell of a team. But they're young. Seems like they keep coming into power younger and younger. These two have had it rough: no dad since they were three, Mom OD'ed. You'll have to read the file but the gist of it is that they went into the system when someone in the family tried to sell them to a lab overseas. Storm talked to their caseworker and told her I was coming but, well, look at me. There's no way they're going to release those kids to me. I meant it when I told Storm I needed a woman's touch on this one. I know when I'm outa my league. I'm not a telepath and even with your help the other week, I still don't look like a school teacher.”

“We'll come up with something,” she assured him. “What about after that?”

“Supposedly there's a little homeless girl in Phoenix. The locals call her 'The Gardener'. That's all I really know. There's pictures in her file. You'll understand why there's no more details than that when you see them.”

“What about the ones Storm just sent you?”

“They're ours. We'll deal with that later.”

The tone of his voice was so final that she didn't ask any further questions.

“Tell me about your trip in?” he asked, hoping for a bit of distraction from the thought of what might be in his file.

“What do you mean?”

“Just wondered what it was like. I can't remember of being on any plane except ours. Today was the first time I remember being in an airport.”

“Why?”

He just cocked his head sideways and looked at her as if the answer were so obvious that he was almost disappointed that she'd had to ask.

“Oh. You'd make all sorts of alarms go off, wouldn't you?” she said, laughing to herself. “It's not really so bad. Better than the jet in some ways, worse in others.”

“What do you mean?” he saw an opportunity to really get her talking and he went for it.

She shrugged, “There's a lot more room in the jet and it's faster. Plus it flies on our schedule.”

It wasn't the wordy response he'd hoped for, “But?” he pressed.

“Coffee service.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Coffee... I think it would take whiskey to make flying better.”

“They offer that too.”

“We'd never be able to talk Storm into it.”

She laughed. “Maybe Hank could be convinced to put a flask pocket in your uniform.”

That made him laugh, and he basked in the smile that said she wasn't retreating from him. He knew she'd talk when she was ready. In the years that he'd known her, she always had, whether he'd be completely willing to listen at the time or not. His mind floated back to an embrace on a train and the words 'I'll take care of you' blew through his mind like the curls of smoke off a midnight cigar. Three years was a lifetime ago but he felt the promise as strongly as he had then.

Their plates arrived before he could let himself delve any deeper into that chain of thought. Their meals effectively brought anything resembling conversation to an end. He caught himself smiling as she set upon hers with an enthusiasm that he'd never seen a woman have for a barely-cooked steak. The amiable silence carried on through the entire meal and the ride back to the hotel.


	6. The Room

He set down the six-pack. It wasn't Canadian, which had made Marie scowl when he'd brought it back to the car, but, as she'd said, at least it was cold and wasn't Bud Light. She tossed her purse on the table and snagged the first bottle from the the cardboard sleeve. He watched in amusement for a moment as she struggled twisting the cap before taking it from her and popping it off. He took the first drink from the bottle and handed it back to her. She didn't complain or even bother to wipe it off before she turned it up. A third of the bottle gone, she plunked down on the couch, much in the same position that he always sat.

“I'll take the couch tonight,” he offered, as he opened his own beer and sat down beside her.

“No way. I'll fit better here.”

“But you need to sleep. I know you couldn't have last night.”

“I didn't let you sleep either,” she said almost apologetically, taking another drink. “I got a little on the plane, but I'll be able to sleep anywhere at this rate.”

“I'm not going to win this one am I?”

“No.”

“Will you at least let me call down and have them bring you up a cot or something?”

“We're just going to be here tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then all I need is a blanket and a pillow.”

“Are you sure?” 

She gave him a pointed look that didn't leave a lot of room for argument. “When are we checking out tomorrow?”

“Whenever you're ready.”

“Don't you start this,” she warned, grabbing another bottle. “Don't treat me like a kid just because something went wrong. When were you planning on leaving?” This time she popped the lid off on her own.

Is that how his attempt at trying to give her a bit of space to reconcile her thoughts and get some rest had come across? “I'd like to be on the road by eight.”

“See, wasn't that easy. I know we weren't equals a week ago, Logan, but we are now.”

He was taken aback, “I never... Not for a moment... Even when we thought it was permanent.”

“I know. I'm sorry. It's just a little crowded right now. Pieces of you and Kitty and Bobby. I'll be glad when the other two wear off. I'm cold and feel like I'm not quite solid.”

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her toward him. “But not me?”

“You've never really worn off after Liberty,” she admitted. “All this time and I still have to have a cigar every three or four weeks. They say I heal faster than I should, but not enough that it really makes a difference when it counts like it does for you. I get flashes of deja vu when I know there's nothing that should cause it.”

“And you wake up with the nightmares too,” it wasn't a question.

“How you know?”

“Because the dreams feel like deja vu for me. How often?”

“Maybe every other week now. They're not as bad anymore. I don't wake up screaming every time anymore.”

“I don't either,” he said. Knowing she could hear the frown in his voice he continued,“They're getting stronger. I'm trapped in them longer.”

“Have you learned anything from them?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted. Suddenly the conversation felt as thought it was getting a bit too personal for him, a small escape was needed. “I'm going to go ahead and get cleaned up if you don't mind.”

“Go ahead. Just don't expect your beer to be here when you get back.”

He smirked at her, picked up his two remaining bottles and a couple things from his suitcase, and disappeared into the bathroom. 

“That's hardly fair!” she called after him as she reached for the remote control.

He drew a nearly-scalding bath and lowered himself into it. He already knew, instinctively, that she was going to be alright. He didn't know how or when but he had no doubts about it.

He leaned back in the tub and reached for one of the bottles that he'd set on the cold tile floor. He wasn't sure what the plan would be once they got out of Phoenix. Well, he corrected himself, glancing at a small slip of paper that was poking out of the pair of jeans that lie discarded on the floor, they'd have one stop to make after Phoenix. 

When he finally emerged from the bathroom he had found that she had changed clothes and was already asleep on the couch, curled up beneath the comforter from his bed and half-hugging one of his pillows. Three empty brown bottles populated the small trash can and he added his own as quietly as possible before slipping beneath the sheet and blanket.


	7. The Night

Hours later, the dream took hold. It was almost painfully vivid: arms bound to a post behind his back, the lingering taste of a cigar on his breath and a line of armed men in fatigues before him. He could've easily broken his bindings, uprooted the whole damned post if need be, but his dream-self knew that it would only make what was to come harder. He felt more annoyed than he did afraid. The man bound beside him felt familiar, familial. He'd muttered something that Logan couldn't quite remember. Then a scream and a rain of bullets. Usually he woke at the moments in dreams where normal people would have died. Instead, he slept straight through until the wounds healed enough for him to come to, laying in the dirt, chained in a cell.

At that point he'd finally woken, sat bolt-upright in bed, panting and sweating. The long sleeved t-shirt and thin black lounge pants that he'd purchase the morning before clung to his damp skin. He counted it as a sort of blessing that the claws hadn't come out and that he hadn't screamed.

He turned automatically to check on Marie. He found her sleeping with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the blanket inched down around her waist. 

He pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He knew his own nightmares well. This one had been new. And, as with every time something new drifted forward, he knew he'd be up all night wondering if it had just been a dream or if it was at least partially a memory.

Logan crept back across the room and around the bed. He tugged the blanket back up around Marie's shoulders because, despite her long sleeves and thin white gloves, she looked cold, before turning to lie back down. On the table laid the pair of folders that Storm had sent. Again he wondered if he should look. It would have been a matter of record somewhere: execution by firing squad. Fingers shaking more than he would ever admit, he reached for the files. He hadn't noticed before how thick his was.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, staring blankly at his folder when the lamp next to the couch flicked on. He turned sharply in the direction of the light in time to see Marie pull the blanket that she'd been sleeping under around her shoulders and stand from the couch. He hadn't even noticed that she was awake.

“There's not going to be any answers on the outside of the file, Logan,” she softly drawled.

“I was James once,” he said, tracing the label. 

“I know,” she said as she climbed onto the foot of the bed.

“You read it?”

“Of course not,” she said, sounding offended. “I'd never betray your privacy and past like that. I didn't even know what she'd sent.”

Without knowing it she had expressed the very reason that he'd left her file untouched. “Then how?”

“I don't have a pair of adamantium bullets lodged in my brain keeping some of the memories locked up.”

A pair of bullets? In his brain? Oh God, did she have dreams of him being shot? Or was this something that the Professor knew and had kept from him? He found that those questions weren't as important as he'd once suspected. “Not just the nightmares and the deja vu then?”

“No. Solid memories. Every touch. From everyone.”

His mind flickered back across the people he knew she'd touched: her first boyfriend, Magneto, presumably Bobby, himself, “You know everything?”

“No. Not everything.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me?”

“The Professor said it'd come on it's own. He had me write down what I could, though I honestly didn't put it all down. I wouldn't leave you exposed like that. The rest of that file, I guess, is his own research. I didn't think you'd want to hear it from me when it was supposed to come on it's own.”

He nodded, somehow unsurprised with how quickly she'd gotten to the very heart of the matter. “I don't want to be told who I am. I want to know.”

“But you know who you are, Logan,” she sounded almost sad.

“Who I was then,” he corrected. “I don't even know what's nightmares and what's memories anymore.”

“I wish I could help.”

“Me too ki- Marie.”

A thoughtful flicker crossed her face. “What if...”

“What if what?”

She shook her head.

“C'mon now. What are you thinking?”

“What if I could tell you?” she asked quietly.

“If they're real or not?”

She nodded and he found himself mulling the idea over. “Storm said you were set on helping me. I... I want to help you too.”

He found himself pausing, something crossing his mind that he hadn't yet considered. The thought was spoken aloud before he could stop it. “Do you even want my help?”

“What?”

“I know I'm not the best guy for the job, but I'll help you the best I can if you want to work out how to control it. But if you want...” he couldn't bring himself to suggest another dose of the 'cure', “to do something else about it... or nothing else... I'll understand that too.”

“I'm stronger than I used to be,” she said softly.

He could only guess at her meaning. “You were stronger than you knew all along. Strength’s got nothing to do with it. It's not weak to want to be different than you are.”

She shook her head. “I hated who I was. I didn't understand it. But now... I've been powerless long enough. A needle in the arm to fix all my problems? What kind of a person does that make me? I don't want to be afraid of myself again, of what I'm capable of doing to me.”

It dawned on him that they'd never really talked about her getting the 'cure' past the conversation in the school's foyer. He'd never actually suspected that she had come to regret it, but that was a conversation for another time. “Now you're back to being afraid of what your powers do to others.”

“No.”

He simply looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Alright... Yes.”

“Even what they'll do to me.”

“Especially to you.”

“I don't get hurt like everyone else does.”

“I know it's not the same kind of hurt with you.”

“I'll heal, no matter what you throw at me,” he insisted, ignoring her implication.

“I hope so,” she said. Her voice sounded dismal.

He leaned back so he was half sitting up against the headboard and pulled the covers that were left on the bed up around his waist “Kill the light and c'mere” he said, patting the pillows beside him.

“But...”

“I'm not going to be able to sleep anymore tonight and you're still cold.”

 


	8. The Bed

He was surprised with her lack of argument. She simply stood, took the folders that he'd been contemplating and laid them on the table, and then turned out the light and retrieved her pillow from the couch. She hesitated for a moment when she returned to the edge of the bed, but he simply lifted the corner of the covers. Marie climbed in, still wrapped in the blanket that she'd been sleeping under. 

He studied her for a long moment as she tried to make herself comfortable. She had plenty of room yet she huddled as close to the edge of the mattress as possible, facing away from him. She'd looked more relaxed as she'd laid half-shivering on the couch.

“Marie?”

“Yes?”

“Scoot over here.”

“What?”

“One false move and you're going to fall off the bed. I promise you've got nothing to fear fear from me tonight. I'll not be sleeping any more.”

She rolled over to face him, tangling herself further in the blankets. There was a concerned frown on her face. “I'm not afraid of you, Logan. I never have been.”

“Never?”

“Not once.”

“Not even when I...?” he said, still unable to bring himself to talk about the night she had woken him from a nightmare.

She shook her head. “It was an accident.”

The look in her eyes was so open and trusting that he knew that she wasn't just trying to make him feel better. Three claws through the chest and countless memories of him doing God-only-knew-what in her mind and she she trusted him enough to not only be in the same room with him but also to climb into bed beside him. He knew it was no lie: she did not fear him. But it troubled him none the less because he knew that meant that it was herself she feared.

He lifted the covers and tugged gently at the blanket she was wrapped in. She shot him an aggravated look but gave up the comforter without a fight. He spread it across them and gently reached for her. She allowed him to drag her toward him. He stopped shy of pulling into a full embrace, instead letting her lie beside him so they were just barely touching, what he hoped was the middle ground between not making her too uncomfortable and allowing his body heat to help warm her.

Still, he could feel the chill seeping into his skin through their pajamas. “My God, you are cold. How long with this last?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I'd pulled a good bit from him once before but I'd just got done taking some from Pyro so it all evened out. Other than that I'd never touched him for more than a couple seconds at a time and the chill lasted a few hours then. It lasts longer than his powers do. I've never understood that..”

Pyro? Nevermind. That was a question for another time. He didn't know if this was going to come out right, but he decided to try anyway. “I understand you're uncomfortable after what you woke up to with Bobby...”

She interrupted him, “What do you mean? Is that what Storm told you? That we were sleeping together and it came back in my sleep?”

“She didn't tell me anything. I just thought that...”

“It wasn't anything like that... We weren't...” she gave an embarrassed sigh. “When we were together, I slept in my room and he slept in his.”

Logan was baffled. “I just assumed...”

“You can't believe everything that you hear around the mansion. I'll tell you the whole story while we're on the road, but for now... you're just so warm... may I?”

He smiled, “Sure.”

She wrapped a hand, gloved in thin cotton, around his wrist, lifted his arm, and curled into his side. He found himself thankful for the too-warm long sleeved shirt that had come with the lounge pants. Something had told him that continuing to sleep in a pair of boxers wouldn't be a good idea, but at the time he was just hoping to keep her from feeling uncomfortable. Instead it was allowing her to seek comfort in touch, which had betrayed her yet again only hours ago. 

“You need some sleep too, Logan.”

“I'll be alright.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He found, to his surprise, that he actually did, but he didn't want to burden her. “It was just a dream.”

“Are you sure?” She asked it so innocently that he half-wondered if she'd already forgotten the offer that she'd made him. From anyone else that question would have agitated him, but from her it served as a wrecking bar to his resolve. 

“It was an execution,” he whispered, licking his suddenly-dry lips and tightening the arm that laid behind her. It was a lot harder to say the words aloud than it was to dwell on the thought in silence. She didn't speak, so he continued. “Military sanctioned.” He swallowed hard. “Firing squad.”

She didn't respond at first, just reached up to trace his dog tags through his shirt. “You didn't do it,” she finally whispered.

Relief washed through him. “See, just a dream.”

“No,” she whispered brokenly. He could smell her tears in the air but they didn't fall onto his shirt. “It's a memory. It was real. It actually happened. But you weren't guilty.”

He stiffened. “What?” He may have had his arm around her but in that moment she was serving as a anchor for him.

“How much to you remember?”

“Me and another guy bound. The firing squad. The shots. Coming to in a cell.”

“Do you know when it was? Or where?”

He found himself thankful that she hadn't moved from her place tucked into his side. Even through two layers of cloth, her fingertips grazing his chest, sliding the cool pieces of metal against eachother, calmed him. “No.”

“Do you know what happened? Or who the other guy was?”

“No. I know that I knew the guy but I have no idea who he was.”

She nodded against him, but said nothing.

“But you do?”

“Yes, but I'm not going to tell you.”

“If you know then it's still in here somewhere,” he ventured.

“Exactly. And you can ask me about it when it comes to the surface. Just know that you didn't do it. You were always more restrained than anyone thought.”

Again, there was comfort in her words. He rolled the dream... the memory... around in his mind as she grew heavier against his side. Once she was asleep Logan meant to take the opportunity to study her further. He meant to spend the rest of night deciding exactly what he was going to tell her about where they were going once their work was done and if it would be better to start asking her to limit the amount of time she spent wearing gloves before he began helping her, just so she could get used to the idea. Instead her calm, steady breathing made his eyelids droop and against his better judgment, he was soon fast asleep.

 


	9. The Morning

He woke to a sense of peace that he couldn't help thinking must have abandoned him long before his memories had. Marie slept on, still tightly curled into his side. She felt warmer than she had before but he had no way of knowing if that was from his own body heat or if the part of Bobby that she had absorbed was starting to wear off.

He glanced at the clock, mentally lamented the fact that he was hoping they would have been checked out and have eaten breakfast by this time, and then looked down at the sleeping girl – 'woman,' he corrected himself. He brushed the hair back from her face, intending to gently shake her awake once she was able to see where she was, but when his fingertips grazed her cheek, her eyes shot open and she pulled back sharply and sat up.

“Are you crazy?”

“I'm sorry,” he struggle to explain himself, “thought maybe if your hair was out of your eyes the light would wake you up.” That hadn't exactly been his plan, but at least it sounded feasible. 

“You touched my skin,” she looked feral, terrified.

“Calm down, Marie.”

“You touched my skin,” she repeated. “Are you crazy?”

“I have before.”

“I was cured then.”

“I have before the cure.”

Her eyes darted wildly about the room and for a moment he saw her thoughts as clearly as any telepath could have.

“You're not a monster, Marie.” The words were out before he could account for them. A tinge of deja vu passed over him, like he had heard the words or something very similar before, but he pushed the feeling aside and continued. “You're not a freak. And yes, you're dangerous, but you're not a danger to me.” He proved his point by tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger along her hairline near her temple for a moment.

She gave a little gasp, “How...?”

“I've seen that look before... in the mirror.”

She moved back toward him fractionally. “I'm sorry.”

“It's who we are,” he said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance.

She nodded.

He glanced at the clock: nine thiry-seven. “Let's get out of here. Are you all packed up?”

“Just have to change.”

“Go ahead. We've really got to get on the road.”

They exited the room not fifteen minutes later and he found himself grateful that she was going to be able to travel at his pace. She was wearing his coat again. He'd said nothing, just taken her purse from her as she'd picked it off the table and held the coat up for her to slip into. She had given him a look that made it clear that she'd expected to have been in trouble for wearing it before. The smile that took over in place of her uncertainty let him know that she knew how much it meant to him. He'd seen that look before, years ago when he'd pressed his dog tags into her hand.

There was no continental breakfast at their hotel, so they made do with a stop at a Seven-Eleven. Marie had disappeared inside while Logan fueled the car and returned with two coffees, half a dozen doughnuts and a few bottles of water. 

By the time he had finished checking the oil and tires, she had already spread the twins' file across her lap and was pouring over it as she ate her breakfast. 

“Pace yourself or you're going to get bored,” he warned. “It's going to be about a ten hour drive.”

“And I'm going to be stuck in this seat the entire time, aren't I?”

“Unless you want to stretch out in the back for a while,” he replied.

“I figured as much,” she said, turning back to the file.

The miles flew by in a comfortable silence. Logan used the time to consider how changed the woman who sat in the passenger seat had left him. There had been a shift in the air when the girl that she had been had entered the arena in Laughlin City, but he'd never expected the events that followed. Never expected that a couple hours after that initial shift he’d be standing in the bar, claws out, receiving a look not of terror but of understanding tinged with just a hint of surprise from the little wisp of a teenager. Never expected that within a week he'd almost kill her. Or that he'd suffer such a change that he'd go against his very nature: promising to take care of her when he was barely able to care for himself; teaming up with a group that fancied themselves some sort of super-heroes to make good on that promise; willingly doing something that he knew very well might cost him his life to make sure she lived. 

Keeping promises, keeping an address, being a part of anything: five years ago he would have laughed at the idea. But after three years of living it, he could no longer relate to the way his life had been.

“Storm wouldn't have given you this file if she didn't think you could manage it on your own,” Marie said, breaking into his thoughts. “Maybe she knows something that's not in here.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know.”


End file.
